Watch a joust, drink some ale at Renaissance festival

Sayeth what, ye dude?

Did thou just utter that, in sooth, thy dank cavernous tooth-hole consumes all truth and reason?

That's a rather long-winded way of telling someone they've got a big mouth.

The Renaissance way.

Verily, ye merrily may enjoy the 15th Age of Chivalry Renaissance Festival this weekend at Sunset Park to rev up your medieval mojo. Joust think of it: Three days of knights, historical re-enactments, pageantry, artisans-- including blacksmiths, toy-makers, stone carvers and sword-dagger-armor craftsmen -- frothy mugs of ale, platefuls of fish and chips, tournaments, gladiator face-offs, strolling minstrels, contortionists, jugglers, flame-eaters, storytellers, belly dancers, bow-and-arrow games, a parade of kings and queens and a medieval barber. (In deference to the era, kindly refrain from requesting highlights, tints or frosting. ... Or mohawks.) And for a saucy distraction, flirt with a wench or three (out of sight of the Royal Missus).

There also will be trained parrots and pirates. (Or is that trained pirates and parrots?)

Meanwhile, the 16th-Century Village will feature German, Italian, Ottoman, French, Celtic, Polish and British military encampments squaring off in a Clash of the Multinational Titans. On several stages, acts such as Tempest, The Tossers and Killian's Angels will slay the crowd.

To comfortably converse in Renaissance lingo, here are a few choice words to help you pretend you're just one of the peasants:

"Anon" (until later); "Morrow" (day); "E'en" (evening); "Fare-thee-well" (goodbye); "Aye/Yea" (yes); "Nay" (no); "Ne'r" (never); "Perchance" (maybe); "Enow" (enough); "Prithee/"Pray" (please) and "Fie" (ugh or bleh -- but with style!).

And to be medievally correct, address thy fellow citizens as "My Lord," "My Lady," "My Lad," "My Lass," "Master," "Good Sir" and (if it's one of the fat-cat gentry) "Your Worship"/"Your Grace."

But mind thy tongue. Try not to wish a pox unto any-thee. And if you tell someone that by my trowth, thou dost make the millstone seem as a feather what widst thy lard-bloated footfall ("You're fat") or thy vile canker-blossom'd countenance curdles milk and sours beef ("You're ugly"), well ...

Good knight and good luck, knave.

Contact reporter Steve Bornfeld at sbornfeld@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0256